The Perfect Christmas
by Emilie Rose
Summary: Here's a little Christmas present to all you Phantom fans! Ever wonder what Erik's life was like as a child? This tale gives you a glimpse intoour dear Angel's childhood holiday season. T for safety


**Hello everyone and happy holly-days! (tee hee.) This is a short **_**Phantom**_** Christmas story I wrote last year and posted for this holiday season. It's pretty choppy, but I'm relatively pleased with it. Please read and review; I'd love any suggestions to fix this up a bit.**

**Yeah, you all know I don't own these characters.**

I looked through the bars on my attic-room window and watched as snow fell gently to the frozen ground. Strange thing about snow; every flake is different, but people still consider them beautiful. A shame they don't think that about their own race. Then I wouldn't have been in that attic in the first place.

But I vowed to the falling snow that I would someday be beautiful like them. Perhaps not physically, but I would show the world my inner beauty.

I hated winter! Winter was cold and my "room" always became unbearably frigid. It also meant that Christmas was approaching. _Christmas,_ I thought bitterly._ A time when normal families spend time together and enjoy themselves. A time when I am reminded that my mother hates me and wishes that I would die._

_This year will be different, _I told myself. _I am seven years old now, and I can make this Christmas better. I will not start a feud; I will wear my mask, get Mama a beautiful present, stay in my room unless she tells me I may come out. This year, I will be the ideal son she's always wished me to be!_

And so I had my mission; make a perfect Christmas for Mama. I worked endlessly at my task during the two weeks leading up to Christmas. Whenever Mama and I were together, I would help her around the house and behave exactly as I was told. No matter what curses she threw at me, I did not shed a single tear and I took my beatings wordlessly.

I cut snowflakes out of paper and asked Mama if it was alright to hang them on the windows; to my surprise and delight, she agreed.

Every spare moment of my time was spent preparing Mama's present. I was going to write her a song, a song that told her how much I loved her!

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On Christmas Eve, Mama knocked on my bedroom door and told me that I was to come downstairs.

I did, and she brought me into the dining room, handing me a broom. "I'm having company here tomorrow night for Christmas dinner. This floor is utterly filthy. Clean it. Then wash the windows."

"Yes, Mama," I answered, then I took a chance. "Mama? Am I invited to the Christmas party?"

"You? Of course not! These are my friends coming here! I won't let you embarrass me and ruin everyone's Christmas with your horrid face!"

She grabbed me by the collar and lifted me an inch off the floor. "When my guests arrive, you will go up to your room and stay there! Do you understand me? Don't you _dare_ humiliate me again. I've managed to keep your existence a secret from these people and I do not intend to enlighten them now!"

"Alright, Mama, I understand."

"Good, now get to work!" And with that, she turned on her heel and marched out of the room.

As I worked, I decided that I didn't mind not going to Mama's party. There would only be several adults there, staring at me and telling Mama how awful I look.

All that mattered was that she liked her song.

I sang it in my head as I worked, imagining her smiling face as I played for her.

Christmas passed excruciatingly slowly as I sat unmoving in my chilly attic room, listening to the distant sound of Mama's friends celebrating. They sounded so happy! Why couldn't I be happy, too?

When the party had ended, Mama came upstairs to tell me that I was allowed to move about my room again.

_Come now, Erik, _I told myself. _This is your chance to give her the present!_

"M-Mama?" I began in a small voice.

"What do you want?" snapped my mother.

"May I come downstairs? There's something I want to show you."

"Well, I suppose so. But not for too long."

I hurried downstairs and sat at the piano bench. Mama came down behind me and stood at my side.

"What?"

"I- I wrote this for you, Mama. As a Christmas present." Then I began to play, before Mama had a chance to protest.

I played the entire piece perfectly, singing of how I loved my mother and how she really had been a good parent.

When I finished, I turned slowly, staring up into her beautiful blue eyes. She was crying; for a moment, I thought my music had moved her heart of stone.

But then she slapped me so hard I fell off the bench. "Damn you boy!" she shrieked. "Oh, God meant for you to be born dead! I should have killed you! Get to your room! Now!"

She dragged me to my attic, where she beat me so badly I could not even crawl into bed. That night, I slept on the floor after having fainted from the pain caused by my mother's blows.

For days, I was forbidden to step foot outside my room, but I did not care. I sobbed endlessly, too heartbroken and sore to do anything else. I simply could not understand Mama's anger.

I couldn't understand it then, but when I was older, I did. In my song to mama, I proved false the tales that she had been telling herself for years. I proved that I was not a mindless beast, as stupid as I was ugly. By composing such a song for her, I showed that I was a talented boy, and also a human being with feelings and the need to be loved.

My mother could not bear this knowledge, so she pushed me down in an attempt to crush my spirit. She could never love me and was therefore forced to hate me. In her eyes, I would only ever be a monster.


End file.
